


Cold Case

by shambling



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Head Injury, Snippet, and I know a lot about standing in industrial freezers, and having head injuries, blatant abuse of vaguley police sounding jargon, like a character study but for a situation, stuck in a freezer, they say you should write what you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:00:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shambling/pseuds/shambling
Summary: A man has been reported missing, and its all routine; Alec goes off to talk to his boss and Ellie stays behind to direct resources. But things are never that simple.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller
Comments: 19
Kudos: 94





	Cold Case

It had begun, as most cases did, almost innocuously. No body, no big manhunt, just a worried woman at the desk, saying she’d like to file a missing persons report, because she hadn’t seen her neighbor in 3 or 4 days and he wasn’t answering his phone. And so a duty officer and an entry team had been dispatched to the address where they searched thoroughly, finding a mug and cereal bowl going to unpleasant in the sink, but no signs that anything untoward had happened. It was as though he had gone out to work one morning as usual, and simply just, disappeared. At which point someone had the good sense to boot the problem upstairs, until it landed on DS Miller’s desk, at which point she had roped in Hardy, and the entire investigation had kicked up a notch.

All of which went some way towards explaining why Hardy was now stepping cautiously across a muddied yard to the backdoor of a farmhouse, to pay a visit to a Mr Jerome Smith, organic farmer with an onsite slaughter house, and the employer of the missing Mr Hurst. Alec had declined company for the visit, it wasn’t even at interview under caution, just an enquiry to see whether Hurst had turned up for work as expected on Monday and why it was the neighbor and not Smith who had first raised the alarm.

In all likelihood, Alec suspected Hurst had booked time off and would turn out to be somewhere sensible, possibly in a nice hotel, smashed on good scotch, but he didn’t voice that thought out loud to anyone except Miller, who gave him a disapproving look.

Alec knocked and waited patiently in the early autumn chill, half wishing he’d bought with a more substantial jacket, but Smith answered the knock in good time, and soon Alec was seated at a well scrubbed kitchen table with a mug of tea and his features arranged into “friendly chat” mode.

“So you didn’t think it was suspicious that you’d not seen Mr Hurst since Monday?” Alec asked, “Was he usually reliable or punctual?”

“Very, but he mentioned on Monday afternoon he wasn’t feeling well, and then he phoned on Monday afternoon to tell me he felt ill and might not be in for a few days,” Smith replied. “since he’s previously never missed a day I didn’t see any need to chase him, I just assumed he’d get in touch when he was feeling better. I would never have dreamed something might have happened.” Alec nodded, until they could prove whether or not Hurst had made a call on Monday, it was as solid an alibi as any. “Would you mind if I took a quick look around your buildings before I go?” Alec asked, “Just routine you understand.” A strange look briefly passed across Smith’s face, but he nodded. “Absolutely, I’ll show you around.”

The tour took in all the rooms of the farmhouse, but because they were still being polite and friendly Alec took his shoes off to avoid tracking the mud, and smiled a bit. They visited the garden shed, the garage, the tractor barn and the cow barn, the milking shed and the gates to the nearby pastures. They walked the boundaries, Alec stepping carefully around the mud, Smith treading straight through it in faded wellingtons. They visited the on site abattoir, which made Alec feel less comfortable than he was willing to let on, even as a seasoned detective, and the whole time, Alec had been subtly letting Smith lead the way; never letting him get between Alec and the door. Just in case.

“And this,” said Smith, as they approached a sturdy insulated door, “is the blast chiller and cold store. It freezes the meat and keeps it ready for transportation,” He opened the door wide into a cool dark cavern, and politely gestured for Alec to go first. Without entirely thinking, Alec took a step forwards, at which point he felt something collide with the back of his head in a way that felt like he imagined it might feel to be hit in the head with an iron shovel. He had just enough time to think _ow,_ to himself, before he fell forwards into the blackness.

*

Meanwhile, back at the station, Ellie was sending officers hither and yon like a battalion commander. Forensics had been dispatched to Hurst’s house to check for any signs of foul play, a family liaison officer was getting in touch with his parents to check if they could think of any reason for his disappearance, some juniors were variously putting together a timeline of known movements leading up to the apparent disappearance, and another set were making a list of places he might be likely to have gone. Meanwhile Bob was off liaising with the coast guard in case he had met an unfortunate end in Broadchurch’s unforgiving harbor.

Hardy had been gone for a couple of hours, but she wasn’t unduly worried. He was a grown man who could look after himself, and it made sense really, to split their resources. All the same she felt uncertain, like she ought to have gone with him up to the farm. So remote and isolated, up on the hills above the bay. She contented herself with a text.

_R U OK? Let me kno if U need a lift._

And left it at that.

*

Hardy awoke with a throbbing pain in the back of his head, and an ache in his hands and knees that suggested to him he’d fallen with quite some force. It was dark when he opened his eyes, almost completely black, and utterly bone chillingly, freezing cold. _Fuck._ He thought to himself. And then said it aloud, “Fuck.” The noise was deadened in the space. He shivered painfully, wondering how long he’d been unconscious for. He still had some sensation in his extremities, which suggested that it hadn’t been very long. Smith had mentioned the cold storage was kept at minus 18, with the blast chiller, into which they had just stepped, working extremely hard to maintain that temperature as fast as possible every time the door opened and a warm carcass was placed inside.

Hardy shivered in a bone deep way, and put his numbing hand to the back of his head, probing gently. It came away bloodied. At least, he assumed that was what the sticky substance was. It wasn’t still warm and wet, more the texture of just setting jelly, but that didn’t tell him much. He wondered briefly whether temperature had any effect on clotting speed in a human, and whether it would help or hinder him. Then he wondered how long you could survive in sub zero temperatures in summer clothing without getting frostbite, and felt somewhat sick.

He felt, somewhere beyond cold. Not so much shivering as shuddering, and it felt as though strange bits of him were freezing. The hair inside his nostrils for example, he’d never really given that much thought to his own nose before but now he could _feel_ it. It also felt strangely as though his eyebrows were prickling. He wondered how much of that was simply cold and how much was filtering through the effects of being clouted hard on the back of the head. He also found himself almost surprised to still be kneeling on the floor, even as his eyes adjusted to the deep gloom. It was as though his thoughts were coming to him from a long way away, like someone was shouting them across the bay. He blinked again and forced himself to this feet, stumbling and lurching into the dimness as numb feet tried to support his weight and his head throbbed agonizingly. Fuck.

That was when he saw it. Or rather him. At least, he was fairly confident it would turn out to be the erstwhile Mr Hurst. The figure lying in the dark recesses of the freezer appeared to be around the right build and shape for the missing man, and the blue grey tinge to his skin suggested he’d been in there for a while, as did the crystals of ice forming on his entire body, making him look unearthly. Hardy stared for a bit; one small part of him thinking that, at least that was his case half way to being solved, for one thing he had a body, and now a suspect, although no motive, the other, louder, more strident part, wondering if that’s what he’d look like by the time they found him. He wondered how long it would take to freeze to death, and if it would be very unpleasant. He had a vague feeling it came with feelings of paradoxical joy, or maybe that was asphyxiation. He didn’t entirely want to find out.

Hardy was unsure how long he’d been standing now, staring at the corpse, contemplating his own mortality, but it felt like forever. He was still shuddering, his heart pounding and he felt an uncomfortable urge to keep coughing and coughing, as though there wasn’t enough air in the freezer to keep him going. He also felt a deep and unhelpful urge to piss, although he didn’t fancy his chances trying to negotiate a zip with numb hands, and anyway that would probably count as contaminating the crime scene. At the very least, he had absolutely no desire to explain it to pervy Brian.

Curiously, it wasn’t until his phone buzzed in his pocket that he was pulled from his reverie. Surprised there was any signal at all. He pulled it out with shaking hands, fumbling. One bar, that seemed to be coming and going, and a message from the outside world. Miller. Did he want a lift? He stared at it, stupidly, for a long moment, before he realized this was his ticket to safety. Even inside his own head he didn’t want to say rescue. Rescue implied a level of damsel in distress that was an anathema to Alec Hardy. With shaking hands he tapped the call symbol, not entirely expecting it to connect, and unsurprised when it didn’t, so he navigated his way painfully back, and tapped out a reply.

_SND 999 frmr did it am in freez_

Hardly a coherent response but Miller was a sensible woman, he was sure she’d understand it, and he could barely keep his hands from shaking enough to hold the phone. He hit the send button, and watched the message loading bar, sitting at 90%, trying and failing to reach the outside world. His primary chance of, not rescue, retrieval. And all the while, Alec Hardy froze.

*

It was briefly quiet in the office, and Ellie was leaning on the side, waiting for the kettle to boil, when she thought to check her phone again. It now had a read receipt, so clearly whatever Hardy was up to he’d at least seen her message. Probably he was conducting a tour of the property, or, knowing Hardy, he’d gotten a taxi home and had entirely forgotten to tell her. She rolled her eyes at the imagined slight, and turned back to the kettle as it clicked off, slopping hot water onto the tea bag and replacing it before going to investigate the state of the office milk. For once, it was still, if not in date, then at least didn’t smell undrinkable, so she made the cuppa and took it back to her desk with her, throwing her phone down next to the keyboard, and turning her attention back to the list of actions that had been generated on HOLMES2.

In fact, she’d all but forgotten about Hardy by the time her phone buzzed, so she assumed it was Tom, and didn’t check it immediately. She read to the bottom of the page, picking the phone up and turning it over idly in one hand as it buzzed again, the second notification to say it was a text, rather than anything more modern. Hardy was the only person who texted, Tom had insisted she move onto Whatsapp and she had begrudgingly agreed if only so that he would actually stay in contact. Maybe he did want that lift after all.

The message that greeted her had her instantly on her feet shouting “SHIT. Shit shit shit.” To the empty office. On autopilot she locked her computer screen, using one hand to dial emergency control from the mobile, and using the other to fumble for an airwave to call in as much backup as could throw itself into a squad car and race for the hills. She wedged her mobile under her ear, giving her name and number to the operator and grabbed handbag and coat, racing towards the car park and fumbling for her keys. With the ambulance on the road from the nearest hospital screaming blues and twos through the countryside Ellie gave the operator her airwave code and dropped the phone onto her seat. She reached out and put a spinner onto the roof as she sped out towards the hill hammering the radio call button to shout “Alpha Car, Banana Car, Bob we’ve got a code 8 at the farm I have reason to believe the suspect may be holding DI Hardy meet me there.” She barely heard the squarks of response, two cars peeling away from general duty and Bob, panting and responding as he ran. It wasn’t so much that any of them liked Hardy, or at least, not as much as she did, it was just what you did.

*

Hardy wasn’t sure when the message had sent. He tried to pace up and down to keep the blood flowing, but ever step made him reel, and the policeman in him was more than aware that the stiller he could stay the less chance of contaminating the crime scene. He turned up the collar of his shirt and jacket, tried to move his hands and flap his arms, rocking from one foot to another, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything. His feet ached where the cold of the corrugated floor seeped up through his shoes. He wished futiley for PSU boots, which were hideous but offered significantly better insulation from the ground that his shoes. He tried to remember the last time he’d worn PSU boots to give his cold and tired brain something to do that wasn’t contemplating his own mortality.

His brain span and reeled, or maybe he was the one spinning and wheeling. He wasn’t sure any more. He looked again for his phone, dropped it several times and eventually bought it up close enough to his face to see, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. It was as though someone had switched off his understanding. He couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by this. He had stopped shaking now, it felt almost as though everything that was happening to him was happening to his reflection, but he could still see it. It felt not unpleasantly like his experience of gas and air as a teenager when he’d had braces fitted. Or like being really monumentally drunk, but without the hangover. He wished he was drunk, it would be nice to be drunk. A sound behind him made him wheel around, at first he did not assume rescue, but the end, that his suspect was there to finish him off, he flung his arm up to shield him eyes from the sudden brightness, saw a flash of green uniform and then the light and the movement overbalanced him and he fell, down into darkness.

*

Ellie made it into the farm yard just behind the FRU car, closely followed by the ambulance itself who must either have been in the area already or been driving incredibly hard to make it to the cliffs above Broadchurch in the same time it had taken her to travel up from the bay. She was rambling, internally, she knew, because it was better than thinking. Alpha car skidded to a halt just behind, two uniforms piling out which at least answered the question of whether they should hold before going in; and Ellie could hear the screaming twin wails that suggested Bob and Banana Car were not far behind..

Something in her clicked, the bit that made her a good Policewoman good in a crisis, no matter who was in trouble. She directed the uniforms to go ahead, batons extended and tazers out, the FRU officer followed close behind, but not too close, whilst the ambulance paramedics got the scoop and moveable kit out the van, and followed behind them. Her heart ached to follow, and see if Hardy was okay, but as Banana car skidded into the yard, more uniforms piling out, she knew her priority should be to secure the scene. She radioed to Bob. “Bob, secure the entrance, Alpha car are with the paramedics, Banana car are with me, we’re going to look for the suspect, do not try to apprehend him alone, we believe Mr Smith may be dangerous, we don’t know if he’s armed.”

Bob’s affirmative came, and Ellie advanced cautiously towards the farmhouse door. Strictly speaking, she was now designated Gold commander for this operation, but with limited bodies available she couldn’t afford to stay back on control, and with an officer down, apprehending the suspect and letting the paramedics get on with their job was her best course of action, but it was difficult.

The first uniform reached for the farmhouse door with her extendable batton and pushed it gently, it gave immediately, and she entered. After a short beat so did her partner, and then Ellie. The found Mr Smith at the kitchen table, a shovel laid across it, with what looked horribly like blood all over one end, and both his hands out on the table in plain view, almost as though he’d been waiting for them. “I’m sorry,” he said, in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry, I just panicked, I didn’t mean to hill him I just panicked.” Ellie cautioned him, and he sat unresisting as she borrowed a pair of speed cuffs and put them on him, he came quietly as they lead him to the car, and sat quietly in the back. With Smith safely stowed, Ellie let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and turned to the ambulance, which had not yet left. That, she knew from experience, was a good sign. Ambulances tended to “load and go” as they called it, if the patient was in any real danger, and this crew had opted to stay. She smiled a small, grim smile at that particular knowledge. How many times had Joe described to her an accident where they’d decided to stay and play rather than load and go? But for now she was just grateful for the insight. It was probably all going to be okay.

*

Hardy came to briefly in the comforting embrace of a pretty blonde paramedic, who was supporting his head gently with one hand and waving to her colleague with another. A small, stupid part of his brain wondered if Green Uniform Syndrome could be said to be the opposite of White Coat syndrome. That was to say, feeling a sense of great wellbeing when the medical professionals arrived. Then he realized she was talking to him, “Alec? Alec Hardy? Can you hear me Alec? I’m Sonia, I’m from the ambulance service, this is my colleague David, we’re going to move you onto a stretcher now okay Alec?” He made a noise, he wanted to say “yes” but what came out was a more mumbled noise. “Don’t worry Alec.” Sonia said brightly, “We’ll have you warmed up in just a moment.” And then she turned back to her colleague and Alec thought t might be okay to stop trying to stay awake now. There were numbers being called and noise and shouting and Alec let himself drift.

He was aware of a great brightness outside his eyelids, of noise and bustle and the rustling of foil blankets, and his extremities started to hurt as the feeling came back into them. And then a familiar voice, although he couldn’t quite place the name right now. He half listened to it, drifting in and out of consciousness, but it was a good voice, he liked that voice, and if that voice was with him it was probably okay to stop holding on for a bit. That voice belonged to the only person he would trust to sort it all out.

*

Ellie knocked politely on the doors of the ambulance, and was admitted in a flurry of jargon, most of which she understood. “I’m his partner.” She explained, “Professional partner,” she then clarified, “I’ll come with him, someone ought to. Is it okay if I use the phone or the airwave in here?” And the paramedics agreed it was fine and so Ellie left instructions for someone to take her car back to the station, for Bob to take over the scene until she could be back, and for someone to get SOCO up to the scene, with banana car charged with taking Mr Smith back and placing him into the holding cells until such a time as she was free to deal with him. That arranged, she took the seat directed to her by a paramedic, and strapped herself in for the ride back to the hospital. And as she looked into Hardy’s grey face she could’ve sworn she saw him relax.

*

Hardy was lying across his sofa, it was possibly the first time Ellie had ever seen him not in a shirt, and the effect was almost unsettling. He was wearing well, not quite pyjamas and not quite jogging bottoms, but certainly something soft and elasticated, and a soft navy blue jumper, which looked as though it had probably once been expensive and had definitely seen better days. Somehow she found the lack of shirt more unsettling than seeing her boss so vulnerable as to be lying quietly in a darkened room, with dressings on both hands and feet.

“Well its nice to know he didn’t _mean_ to do it.” Hardy was saying darkly, with just the smallest hint of a smile; which relaxed Ellie. “Yes, it was really all just a horrible mistake. It turns out Hurst had a congenital problem, weak arteries or something in his brain. So it was entirely coincidence that they argued and he dropped down dead. Well, as good as dead, just as Smith pushed him. And then he panicked and put him in the freezer because he thought no-one would ever believe him. He said he’d been on the verge of confessing to you when you got to the freezer you know.”

“And instead…”

“Yes well, instead he panicked again that you were about to see the body, hit you round the head with a shovel and ran away.”

“Hmm. Shit confession if you ask me.”

Ellie hid her smile behind her tea mug. It was all going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Is there a word for something thats like a character study but is more a situational study? Anyway, this idea has been bouncing around my mind to entertain me whilst doing things in the industrial freezer at work. This is exactly as comfortable as you might imagine if you're in there in just a light weight jacket. Write what you know eh? Although I feel the need to clarify that hitting my head so hard I needed hospitalising and spending extended time in an industrial chiller have yet to happen at the same time. But seriously, just imagine what my google search history looks like for the science of this...


End file.
